A charming and interesting, if somewhat rambling, journey through the history of cycling with a uniquely British perspective.
Part memoirs, part history of British cycling, the book follows the author as he first discovers cycling as a child, through to his discovery of cycling as a sport - or sports as it turns out, British cycling has historically been more about time-trialling and track racing than road racing. His love of both domestic cycling and continental cycling are explored.
What stops it being a real memoir is is the very rambling nature of the book. There's no real chronology and the book is clearly more about his love of cycling that his own life. Although his communist parents and his time living in France are discussed they are more devices to explain how his excitement about cycling developed rather than any attempt to make the book about himself. And to an extent this is what makes the book, while clearly titled as a memoir, it's not. It's about one man's love affair with cycling. All of cycling. Nothing is left out - even David Duffield on his tricycle gets a mention.
While the rambling is a quaint and charming feature of the book, I think it's also its flaw. The book jumps about in both time and subject matter, often jumping back to topics already covered. With a little more structure, this could have been a five.